


New Year's, 2001

by helens78



Category: Highlander RPF
Genre: Dominance/submission, M/M, Painplay, non-chronological format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-02
Updated: 2005-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's sister gets him an unusual New Year's gift.  The results are not what Valentine might have hoped for, but they'll do for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Year's, 2001

7.

What Valentine hates most about this whole situation is not wanting Loren to leave. It wasn't supposed to be that way. Loren was only supposed to stay for a week, and Valentine didn't even want that much. He isn't perfect. He's good, but nowhere near ideal. But Loren's been _his_ for seven days. He's said _Master_ and meant it. Valentine's called him _my slave_ and meant that.

And just like every other slave Valentine's ever had, he'll be gone when the contract expires.

Valentine hates contracts sometimes.

* * *

* * *

6.

With one more day to go on their contract, Loren gets up early, fixes breakfast and puts it on the table -- scones covered with breadcloths, butter in its dish -- and he dashes milk into coffee and takes the mug to Valentine. He sets it on the bedside table and crawls onto Valentine's body, leaning down to bite at Valentine's earlobes.

"Master," he whispers between nips, "Master, it's eight..." Another bite. "Wake up, Master, your slave begs."

As always, coming awake is a slow process, and Valentine murmurs a few nonsense words before shifting under Loren and blinking up at him.

"Slave."

"Yes, Master. Good morning, Master," Loren whispers. "There's coffee."

Coffee sounds good, but Loren sounds even better, and Valentine gets his arms out from under the covers to hold Loren down so he can press his hips up against him. The sensation's blunted by sheets and blankets, but the intention is clear.

Loren moans softly and squirms down on Valentine's cock. "Please, Master, use me."

Valentine shoves Loren off to the side so he can throw the covers back. "Hands and knees," he tells Loren, or more of growls with morning still roughening his voice. Either way, Loren's quick to obey orders, twisting around and getting on his hands and knees, looking behind himself and licking his lips.

Valentine gets a condom and lube out of the drawer, and he lubes up the condom first, then his fingers, driving them hard into Loren's arse. Loren shoves back against them, tilting his head back and moaning. "Oh, God -- slut for you -- please -- slave begs to be fucked, Master, _please_..."

Loren's arse feels good around his fingers, but it'll be even better around his cock. Valentine pulls his fingers back and lines his cock up, driving forward hard so he can get himself in with one thrust.

"_Yes!_ Please, oh God, yes, Master, please--"

Valentine growls softly under his breath; the boy never seems to stop talking, and even if the begging is very pretty and all the words are pleas, Valentine does wish that there weren't so many of them. Still, it's neither enough to pull him out of headspace nor to make him want to stop, and if he has a mental flash of covering Loren's mouth with one hand and fucking him until he gives muffled screams instead of words -- _hell_. That thought's enough to get him close, even past the babbling.

He pins Loren's hands down and gives him the last, sharpest thrusts, and then he's coming, whole body shaking with release. _Oh._ Morning sex always feels so good; the trick is not falling asleep again straightaway after.

Loren whimpers softly underneath him, but by now he should know better than to ask for orgasm when Valentine's still half-asleep. In the morning, a slave in Valentine's bed gets whatever Valentine cares to give him. Loren wraps his arms and legs around Valentine and tries to catch his breath.

"Mmm." Valentine levers himself up and looks at Loren. "Slave mentioned coffee?"

* * *

* * *

5.

Loren wears bruises so well. Valentine has Loren on his stomach, on the sofa in front of the fireplace, and he's tracing Thursday afternoon's bruises with his fingertips. Loren's being a good boy and squirming, showing Valentine just how much he's enjoying the feel of gentle but insistent fingertips pressing down against marked skin.

Loren purrs like a kitten when Valentine puts his hand over the marks on his shoulder, in the same spot where he left bruises when he held Loren down and fucked him over the kitchen table. Loren purrs louder when Valentine squeezes, digging all five fingers into yesterday morning's bruises.

_Kitten,_ Valentine thinks, but Loren's only here for a week. He doesn't ask. He doesn't want to risk hearing no, getting an odd look and having the last two days of Loren's stay marred by that sort of awkwardness.

* * *

* * *

4.

Valentine loves hand-feeding his slaves, and Loren's been good today. He hasn't complained of the bruises at all, though he must be aching badly. He's been quiet, obedient, pleasant company. It's been good all around.

Valentine offers another bite of bread, and Loren nips it out of his hand. Valentine strokes his hair and smiles down at him. "Good slave," he says, and selects a bite of apple next. Loren takes that eagerly.

It's good. Even better than Valentine had hoped it would be, and yesterday's beating and aftercare left him feeling optimistic. This, though -- the sense of contentment both men have at the moment is a pleasant surprise. It's comfortable, and Valentine's trousers are tight with the constant, mild thread of arousal that comes from having a slave on his knees for him.

A slave. _My slave_, Valentine thinks, and he bends down, taking Loren's chin in his hand and turning Loren's face so he can kiss him. _Mine. For the week._

He owes Kazia an apology, really, but to give it might send the wrong impression. The fact that this is working out doesn't mean he ever wants her to do it again.

* * *

* * *

3.

So Loren's favorite kind of beating comes from a leather-covered paddle. It isn't Valentine's favorite toy, but he can work with that. He does, at least, have a spanking bench in the attic, and he's got a paddle, and he tells Loren to head upstairs, drape himself over the spanking bench, and wait for him.

He doesn't leave Loren waiting long. About five minutes, while he digs the paddle out of a chest and quickly oils the leather, getting rid of the dust and making sure there aren't any rough or ragged spots. As soon as that's done, he heads upstairs. Loren's in position, looking very nice indeed on the bench, and Valentine kneels down next to him, sliding the flat of his hand from the back of Loren's knee to his thigh, up and over the curve of his arse, down into the dip of the small of his back, up the length of his spine, and finally he sinks his fingers into Loren's hair and tugs back slightly. "Slave's presented himself well," he says. "I'm pleased."

"Thank you, sir," Loren says. "Slave begs for pain from sir, please."

"I want to hurt you," Valentine murmurs. "I want you to bruise for me, to groan for me, to come as close as you like to screaming for me."

"Yes, sir, please!"

"I'm going to warm you up with my hand first, and then you'll get the paddle. Twenty-five. Is slave ready?"

"Yes, sir -- please, sir -- please, slave's ready!"

Twenty-five is a nice solid number, enough that by the time Valentine finishes, his hand is stinging and Loren's arse is a fine shade of pink. Valentine squeezes one cheek, and Loren squirms into the bench.

"Good?" Valentine asks.

"Oh, yes, sir, very good," Loren moans. "Please, sir, may slave have sir's paddle?"

Valentine picks it up and runs its edge up the curve of Loren's arse. "Slave deserves it," Valentine says, and he swats Loren lightly across both cheeks, one then the other -- _*smack* *smack*_. "Slave will try to hold still."

"Yes, Master--" Loren stops and goes quiet. "Yes, sir," he whispers.

"It's all right," Valentine says softly. "For this week, you're my slave. You have permission to call me master."

"Yes, Master," Loren whispers. "Slave begs forgiveness; he didn't mean to presume."

"I know." Valentine draws the flat of the paddle up and down over Loren's skin. "Shall I start?"

"Oh, yes, Master, please!"

And Valentine starts the beating, easy at first but gradually getting harder until Loren's begging -- random words such as _please_ and _more_ and _please, sir, oh, please, sir_ over and over until Valentine wonders if his arm will give out before Loren's voice does. He's so greedy for this, greedy in a way he hasn't been for anything since arriving here, and Valentine realizes he could almost settle for this. A beautiful boy who likes pain and calls him "master". Maybe that's all he really needs.

* * *

* * *

2.

Valentine slams into Loren's mouth. "You want it," he growls, "slut for it, then take it. Fucking choke it down." God. He sounds ridiculous. But gentle isn't Loren's style, he says. And Loren's enjoying this; that much is obvious. He's responding to Valentine's hands in his hair, Valentine's hips shoving forward, and Valentine can't help admitting that he wants this, too. He loves having his cock sucked, loves the firm feeling of being in control, having a boy on his knees with his hands behind his back. In the right headspace he even likes choking off his slave's breath with his cock, watching his slave struggle to breathe and then gasp when Valentine finally lets him have air again.

But that's just it: proper headspace. Valentine isn't there right now. He can be this rough and this brutal and love it, but it requires a certain combination of feelings. It requires knowing his slave well enough to be certain of how he'll take it and what he'll need afterwards, and the second day of a seven-day contract with someone he'd never met before isn't nearly enough to give him that.

_Stop it._ Valentine forces his cock deeper and growls under his breath. _This is for him as much as you. For him more than you. Give the boy what he needs._

And he goes deep, deep enough to choke Loren and leave him gagging.

"Can you come this way?" he asks, then pulls back far enough that Loren can moan in response if he wants to. Another disadvantage to not knowing Loren well enough; this sort of scene works better if the question doesn't need asking. Loren answers with an enthusiastic moan, since Valentine's got his head gripped too tightly for him to nod. Valentine slams in again, once more, growling out _"Come"_ as he does, and Loren obeys immediately, cock jerking and come streaking across Valentine's shoes.

If they knew each other better, Valentine could ask Loren to stop what he's doing, get his tongue on leather and clean him up. He could stroke off while Loren did it -- then when Loren was done, he'd have him kneel up and come in messy white streaks all over his face.

But they don't know each other that well. And if the scene isn't perfect, it's good enough. Valentine comes with a hiss forced out between gritted teeth, and Loren chokes for a moment before swallowing. Valentine shoves him away before the last licks can drag over too-sensitive skin, and he catches his breath with one hand still caught in Loren's hair.

"Good slave," Valentine whispers.

Loren gives Valentine a grin that makes all the awkwardness so far worth it. "Slave thanks sir."

* * *

* * *

1.

Someone's between Valentine's legs.

Someone's between Valentine's legs and _licking_.

Valentine doesn't want to look a gift slave in the mouth, but this isn't actually going to wake him up.

He tries. He does try. He even gets himself propped up on his elbows. That lasts about ten seconds. Maybe fifteen. Then he's flat on his back again.

"Nn--" He tries saying something. Nothing much comes out.

The slave's not bad. But it's morning. Valentine needs coffee. He needs enthusiasm. He needs a slave who'll climb on top of him and kiss his eyelids, his cheeks, lick and suck and bite at his earlobes. He needs...

He needs more sleep, and unfortunately, can't prevent himself from taking it.

* * *

"Sorry," Valentine mumbles over breakfast, "I should have warned you."

"Slave assumed," the slave says. _Oh, God, what is his name?_ Valentine can't remember. It'll say on the contract. He'll look later.

"I like initiative," Valentine says. "But that's not what works for me in the mornings."

"Slave understands, sir." Slave might understand, but slave sounds annoyed.

"Look, maybe we should--" Valentine hesitates. Really, the time to back out was last night. Doing it now -- it's only a week. He can do this for a week.

"Should what, sir?"

"Maybe we should start from the beginning and talk about our expectations," Valentine suggests. "What is it you want from this week?"

* * *

* * *

0.

"Happy New Year!" Kazia says, flinging her arms around Valentine's shoulders. "You're late, but it's all right, I'll forgive you this time, now come in, I have--"

"You're talking so fast I can't make out a word," Valentine says, struggling away long enough to take his coat off. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Well. Only..." Kazia grabs Valentine's arm the instant he's out of his coat and drags him into the living room. "You remember I said you had another Christmas present coming?" The room's full of people, and Kazia glances around and waves. Valentine frowns. He's starting to get an odd feeling about this.

"I remember," he says, but Kazia cuts him off with an impatient flick of her wrist. At least that breaks her grip on his arm, which was becoming painful. "What is going on?" Valentine hisses. Something's not right.

A young man in a light blue polo shirt and grey trousers breaks free from a small group in the corner. Valentine grabs Kazia's hand this time, the tight grip serving for the frown he's covering, but then the other man drops into a kneel, and Valentine's expression goes from careful neutrality to utter shock.

"What--?"

"Valentine, this is Loren; Loren, Valentine." Kazia squeezes Valentine's hand. "Loren's your late Christmas present."

Valentine looks from Loren to Kazia and back again. "Will you excuse us for a moment?" he asks Loren.

"Of course, sir."

Valentine drags Kazia back into the foyer. "What is going on?" he whispers. "What is -- what are you _doing_?"

"Getting you a date for New Year's Eve," Kazia hisses back. "Loren's tough, he's smart, he's been looking for a master for as long as I've known him. He's agreed to give you a week on my word that you're a brilliant master--"

"Kaz--!"

"--and you're not going to spend another bedamned New Year alone and slaveless! I can't take it. It's just a week," Kazia says. "For God's sake, it doesn't have to mean anything."

"Oh, believe me, there's no chance of that," Valentine says. "You're going too far. I don't _want_ a slave in my house right now."

"Bollocks."

"Damn it--"

"One week. _One_ week. Just enjoy the week. _Please._ For me."

Valentine takes his glasses off and runs his hand over his face. "Not fair," he murmurs. "This is not at all fair."

"Playing fair all these years has just left you alone and lonely," Kazia insists.

Valentine winces. Kazia's face softens, and she reaches out for him. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean--"

"Yes. You did." Valentine slides his glasses back on. "A week. For you. Because I don't want your reputation hurt thanks to me. But that's the _only_ reason I'm putting up with this. And you--" Valentine stares hard into Kazia's eyes. "You are never doing this to me again."

"But if it works--"

"Would you _listen_ to me? I don't want you doing this again. I don't care if it works."

"But--"

"_Please._" Valentine says. "I can guarantee you it is _not_ hurting you more than it's hurting me, watching me walk through life failing to find someone who'll stay. But even if it were, that wouldn't give you the right to force boys on me. Never. Again. Clear?"

Kazia sets her jaw, but she nods. It'll have to do. Valentine sighs.

"Come on. If he doesn't think I'm an insufferably rude bastard for disappearing that way, I'll take him for the week."

* * *

* * *

8.

Loren gives Valentine a hard hug at the front door. "Thank you for this," he says. "You're a damn good master."

"Thank you." Valentine hugs back. "And for the rest of it. Thank you for everything."

"You'll find him, you know," Loren says. "The right one. He's out there." Loren grins. "He's not me. But he's out there."

"I'm patient."

"More than your sister."

"God knows," Valentine snorts. "Call if you ever need anything."

"I will. I'd like to hear from you even if it's not an emergency. Will you stay in touch?"

"I'll try."

When Loren's gone, Valentine spends some time neatening his house before making himself a cup of tea and taking a seat at the kitchen table.

He didn't want Loren to go. And he wonders how much of that is sheer loneliness. _Would anyone do?_ he wonders.

It's a fleeting thought. Loneliness aside, willingness to settle aside, Valentine didn't ask Loren to stay any more than Loren asked if Valentine would let him. That says more than momentary post-contract wistfulness does.

_-end-_


End file.
